


In Vino Veritas

by Kummerspeck7



Category: Royal Pains
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Reminiscing, Romance, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-14 12:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19273096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kummerspeck7/pseuds/Kummerspeck7
Summary: Hank and co are having a dinner party. Hank drinks way too much and starts talking about how much he misses Boris (who is out of the country with work) what a great friend Boris is, all the things he likes about Boris, showing people pictures of Boris on his phone. Later, he drunkenly calls Boris and tells him, too. From OTPPrompts on Tumblr





	In Vino Veritas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jadziana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadziana/gifts).



> This one is for Jadziana! You'll see why. <3

Boris was a fixture at the unofficial HankMed dinner parties equally anticipated as food or wine. Hank still wasn't entirely sure what had prompted his enigmatic friend to start accepting his invitations, but he had. The general consensus at first had been Boris should probably sit at the head of the table, but the man always declined. He preferred to sit on Hank's left, generally across the table from Jeremiah or Divya. Everyone appreciated his quick wit and that he always brought dessert, so it didn't take long until they thought nothing of chatting with him about whatever topic was at hand.

Hank quickly became accustomed to the rich timbre of his friend's laugh beside him and how Boris’ leg would press warmly against his own when the table was full beyond capacity- which it usually was. He found himself strangely aware of the man beside him, the casual touches as they brushed by one another to get more food or pass a bottle of beer. When Boris asked how the Tikka Marsala was one night, it didn't occur to Hank that there was an appropriate response other than to offer the man a bite from his fork.

Dinners frequently lasted into the early morning as they talked over drinks and dessert. One night they swapped college stories about best days and worst roommates; Evan's best day was graduation, Boris worst recollection was spending a year smelling like pickles because his Sophomore roommate was a canning enthusiast. At another they talked about worst bosses; Hank's was a manager with a pill problem while he worked as a dishwasher during undergrad, Divya cleaned stables for an alarmingly racist woman one summer after being hired as a horse groomer. Once Evan had even managed to get a game of Quarters going and though Boris swore he'd never played before, the man had been suspiciously adept.

‘He's just good at everything.’ Hank insisted, carelessly tossing an arm over Boris’ shoulders and leaning against his friend.

Sometimes they would start a card game; Hank and Boris liked poker while Jeremiah and Divya preferred Gin Rummy and Paige always suggested Uno. Very occasionally the weather would be nice enough for a bonfire on the beach. Those nights were Hank's favorite. They would grab a few beach towels and sit around the inferno, talking while the waves crashed, the wind whipped through the air, and the stars shone brightly above. He and Boris always seemed to be the last two around the dying flames, shoulder to shoulder, engrossed in one another. It was different than most of the time they spent together; Hank wasn't acting as a doctor, Boris was relaxed and almost open without his usual burdens weighing on him. They could talk for hours, until the embers were spent and the pink light of dawn started to sneak up on the horizon.

So when Boris wasn't there it felt wrong to Hank. The evening felt off kilter, like there was a familiar weight missing. Paige was sitting in the seat Hank had come to think of as Boris’. She was turned slightly towards Evan, so there was nothing touching his leg. Her melodic laugh wasn't the deep rumble he'd come to expect from beside him. Her perfume smelled like peaches and vanilla, not citrus and oak and amber. Hank finished another glass of wine. He was straddling the line between tipsy and drunk, wanting nothing more than to shake off the weird mood he was in. The mood he suspected he wouldn't be in if Boris had been able to come.

“Are you okay, Hank? You're making fast work if that bottle.” Divya teased lightly.

“Yeah.” He assured her with a lopsided grin. “Can you believe Boris is gone for an entire month?”

It seemed like an unnecessary amount of time to be in Norway to him. It's not like they were known for banking, maybe it was related to his medical company? He supposed he could just ask, but he tried to avoid questions about Boris’ work. Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to.

“He used to travel more than that, and for longer.” Jeremiah intoned reasonably.

“He hasn't for a while, though.” Evan added. “When's the last time he missed a party?”

Hank thought back. “Not since last year when his plane had that issue. He sent a picture of the smoke, remember? I'm pretty sure I still have the messages.”

He grabbed the phone from his pocket and tapped the text message icon. It never really occurred to him how often they messaged one another until he started absently looking for the photos. There were ten or so messages every day. Funny stories from their days, articles they thought would interest the other, soccer scores. Boris correcting him-It's football. Then later that day he sent a picture of an oil painting in an enormous gold frame. That's really relaxing Hank had responded. Two weeks later it showed up on the wall of Boris’ office.

Three months earlier Hank sent him a picture of himself in a suit- ‘Suits are your thing. Is this okay?’ The reply had been almost instant- ‘My tailor is expecting you tomorrow at 7am’. Hank had sent three follow up messages that went unread. The tailor charged him six hundred dollars for three suits. Hank sent a thank you message. Boris promptly responded- ‘You'll need the tuxedo for our trip to Liechtenstein next month’. Hank knew better than to ask ‘what tuxedo’ or ‘what trip’.

He stopped looking through his messages to recall the event. The baroque room had literally taken his breath away as they walked into the gala. Boris had leaned over to murmur ‘that's why I brought you’ in his ear and he'd found himself shivering for some reason. The next morning as Hank joined Boris for breakfast, he was greeted by the sight of his face staring back at him from the newspaper.

“We look pretty good! What does the caption say?” Hank asked as he took his seat and began to peel an orange.

“'Duke KJV and... Friend Hank at the Palais Gala Dinner’.” Boris had replied evenly. It was the tone he used when he was hiding something, but Hank ignored it. It was the equivalent of Page Six, what they thought didn't matter.

An errant laugh broke Hank out of his day dreaming. He actually felt a little better thinking about Boris-- maybe if he found the picture of them together his weird mood would finally go away. It didn't take long to find the folder on his phone where he kept the pictures from their travels. Hank scrolled through them until he found the picture of the newspaper.

It was taken as Boris was smirking and murmuring in his ear, a hand resting on his lower back. Hank saw himself leaning into the other man's touch. Did they always stand so close? He'd never really noticed how comfortable they were occupying the same space. It had always felt so natural. Boris changed Hank's life when he enabled Hank's medical practice and in return Hank saved his life. They were intimate on a level Hank had never experienced with someone else, a bond forged through crisis and chaos and genuine affinity. For the first time he saw them like other people did-- Two men who traveled together, ate together, lived together. He looked down at the text.

Herzog KJV mit Freund Hank...

Hank took a long drink from his wine as he looked furtively around the table. No one was paying attention to him as Evan shared a ridiculous tale about the last committee meeting. Opening up Google, he searched for “freund in English”. The result popped up quickly: ‘Freund, a male friend’. Hank felt himself slump a little in his seat. It was exactly what Boris had said. He scrolled a little farther. ‘Freund, boyfriend’.

Oh.

Going back to his photos folder, Hank found himself flipping through the pictures of them: together in Buenos Aires, sipping Château Margaux on a terrace. In Sydney, dripping wet from a swim in the ocean. And in Seoul, sharing banchan after a hike.

There were pictures of just Boris he'd taken: Boris in black tie at charity events; Boris in a light grey suit admiring a painting at the Louvre; Boris dressed down in a polo and shorts as he captained the smallest sailboat Hank had ever seen. Hank couldn't even remember what they had been doing sailing around Mexico, just that he spent that afternoon enthralled by the fury of the wind and the power of the sea and Boris’ effortless mastery of them both.

Every snapshot revealed a common theme: they looked so happy. Even Boris was smiling in their pictures together. They were best friends. No one seemed to get him quite like Boris did. He knew Boris better than anyone, too—Hank could see right through his stoic facade to the real self he buried within. One second with him and Hank knew when he was stressed, or angry, or just having fun at someone else’s expense. It was written all over Boris’ face if only someone looked closely like he did.

Hank’s attention focused more and more on Boris as he perused the album, until he finally paused on one in particular.

It was taken during the best part of late April, with the sun shining warmly and the breeze pleasantly cool. Hank loved running when they were in Germany. He loved the trees and the rolling hills and how clean the air felt in his lungs. He loved the stretches of cobblestone, the ancient bridges, the history of it all. It could have made him feel small or insignificant, but instead it made him feel like he was a part of something bigger.

He'd said that to Boris the morning the picture was taken, confessed it over breakfast while he slathered jam on some kind of amazing bread that definitely didn't exist in the US after an easy five mile jog. His friend had looked at him curiously, almost like he couldn't quite believe what he'd heard.

‘Being a part of Germany--being part of her history as nobility and part of her future as a businessman is why I work so hard, Hank. Everything I have was built on this generous land and in return I want for this land to have the best I can give it.’ Boris took a sip of his coffee, clearly still thinking. ‘There is a spring festival today in Munich. Would you attend with me?’

Forty minutes later Hank had showered, dressed, and was tying his shoes when Boris appeared in the doorway to ask if he was ready to go. Hank looked up and forgot how to speak. His heart was thumping in his chest, his mouth was suddenly dry. Without even thinking he grabbed the phone from his pocket and snapped a picture.

 

Hank traced a finger over the image of Boris’ familiar face on his screen. Suddenly it clicked. Boris was really, really handsome. Did anyone else notice it? Someone must. His hair was thick and full, his beard immaculate, his eyes blue as the Caribbean sky. He had a distracting mouth. His lips were expressive. They spent so much time frowning or drawn or deeply contemplative, with only the occasional wry smirk. Hank preferred Boris’ tiny grins, those smiles that he tried to hold back but couldn't seem to.

He needed to find a picture of it. He scrolled through the photos until he found his prize. Hank wasn't sure who had taken it, but the picture was of he and Boris looking at something to their left. Hank tried to remember what it was, it had to be large, or—

Hank’s heart leapt in his chest. He leaned forward in his chair, squinting as he studied it closer. Boris wasn't looking at whatever he was. Boris was watching him. No, not watching. It was more than that, intense but somehow soft-- Gazing. Boris was gazing at him like he was the only person in the world, lips upturned in a soft, affectionate smile.

Hank wondered what those lips would feel like pressed up against his own, wondered how the other man kissed. Was he aggressive, taking everything he wanted and plundering the mouth of his partner? Was he a chaste kisser, always leaving you wanting more? Would he hold Hank's face between his hands, their bodies pressed close? Hank felt himself flush. It was totally normal to wonder. Suddenly he had to know--Did everyone find Boris as handsome as he did? Hank drained his wine glass and turned to Divya.

“Do you find Boris attractive?” He blurted out.

“Ah, he's not really my type.” She demurred after a pause. “Why do you ask?”

He turned his phone around to show her the picture. “He's just so incredibly good looking. Look at his jaw!”

“He does have a structurally pleasing mandible.” Jeremiah confirmed blandly. “Square jaws are often considered to be conventionally attractive by society.”

“Thank you, Jeremiah!” Hank exclaimed as he flicked to another picture. “And his hair. His hair is so soft. Not like I've run my fingers through it, but I've felt it while taking his temperature. It's really soft.”

The other doctor nodded. “I would have no reason to suspect Boris would have the nutritional deficiencies that often cause poor hair quality.”

Hank turned the phone to face his brother. “You must find him distractingly attractive. Look at him. He's perfect.”

Evan chuckled nervously. “Um, what is even going on here, Henry?”

“Look at his lips. And his eyes. He's so handsome. You can't tell me you don't notice.” Hank insisted as if he couldn't hear them. Everyone at the table exchanged a long look.

“Uh, I guess? I mean, objectively speaking. I don't really make a habit of checking out Boris.” Evan finally replied.

“Well I agree with you, Hank. He's very handsome.” Paige said in her usual supportive way.

Divya got up and offered Hank her hand. “How about we get you to bed?”

$-$-$-$

Boris slowly opened his eyes as the plane touched down-- it had been a long and turbulent flight back to Long Island. He spent hundreds of hours a year flying, and this had been one of the worst flights he could remember. His hands ached from gripping the armrests as the plane dropped and regained thousands of feet over and over. His life had flashed before his eyes more than once. He'd found himself meditating for calm, his mantra-- Ai-- a silent prayer on his lips.

He didn't trust that water would stay down if he drank some, so instead the man turned on his mobile. Nearly a dozen notifications flashed on the screen, one after the other. Messages from Hank. Pictures from Hank. Missed call from Hank. He felt himself tense-- It was after one in the morning at Shadow Pond, hopefully there wasn't some type of emergency.

New voicemail from Hank. He checked that first.

“Hey, Boris. It's Hank! I was just looking at some pictures of us. I don't usually spend dinner parties looking at pictures of you, but you weren't there! Did I tell you we had a dinner party tonight? I can't remember. Maybe I did, but maybe I didn't.”

His friend was drunk and he wasn't sure whether the rambling message should make him smile or frown. The thought of Hank inebriated and half way across the world brought out something protective within him, even if Hank was a responsible adult, fully capable of deciding to get drunk in his own home--or anywhere he so chose. That's what Boris told himself as he continued to frown in consternation.

“Anyway, it doesn't matter because you're in Iceland. Or whatever. Why are you so far away? I miss you.”

There was a brief pause as Hank got distracted humming the opening bars of ‘Wish You Were Here’. Hank missed him? A frisson of warmth took hold in his chest. He didn't think he'd ever heard his friend sing before. Hank had a pleasant voice, even drunk and off-key.

“What was I saying? Oh! So I was looking through some pictures of us. I have a whole folder of them on my phone. We have so much fun together. Do you know you're my favorite person, Boris? You are. You're my favorite person. Anyway, I was looking through the pictures and I found this one--should I send it now? No, I'll send it when I hang up. How long does your voicemail go? I've been talking forever, it's probably going to cut me off soon anyway.”

His favorite person? The nobleman lifted an eyebrow in interest as he grabbed the glass of water and took a drink.

“I'll just keep taking until it does. There was this picture of you from when we went to the spring festival in Munich and I just couldn't stop looking at you. I guess I've always known you were really good looking, but this time it just… I don't know. It's like I woke up while I was looking at it.”

Boris put the glass back down and leaned forward. Perhaps this was more than a garden variety drunken call?

“I never noticed how blue your eyes are, or how broad your shoulders are, or how nice your laugh is. I love when you speak other languages. You always smell so good. Not like fake cologne smell, like real pheromones or something. Remember when I got sick and you made me nap in your bed that one time? I could have stayed there forever.”

How could Boris forget? When he'd laid on his pillow that night it was like having Hank pressed against his cheek. He'd ached as a small part of him celebrated getting that much at all while the rest mourned he would never have more when he so desperately wanted it.

“Where was I? Oh! So I told them how attractive I find you. Like I want to run my fingers through your hair and taste your lips and feel your body against mine and it's just occurring to me I really have to stop reading those romance novels even if they're really good and the author is a patient, and…" He trailed off for a second before getting back on topic. “It’s just that I want to watch the dawn with you over breakfast. I want you to be the last thing I see when I close my eyes at night. I want spend every day looking at you like you looked at me that day in the park when it rained. I think I might--”

The voicemail cut out.

“Might what?” Boris growled as he went to check the text messages. He remembered that day perfectly.

They had decided to go for a walk after lunch in the city, only to have the skies open up and start pouring on them after ten minutes. Hank had turned to him with that infectious grin and asked if he wanted to head back. Boris had grabbed two umbrellas from the nearest bodega and they’d set off together. Central Park had been virtually empty, it had been like walking in a fantasy. Just him and Hank and the soft patter of rain cleansing the earth around them. When the freelance candid photographer appeared out of nowhere and offered to take their picture Boris had been refusing when Hank touched him, leaned in, and smiled. He’d been completely distracted by the warm feel of Hank’s hand against his back and the smile on the man's face. Too distracted and surprise to hide his feelings from the camera. The photographer had seen it, his smile drooping a little at the sides as it instantly printed, but Hank hadn't. Or so he thought.

(9:23pm) Missed message: Hey Boris  
(9:24pm) Missed message: Are you ever going to tell me the Turkmenistan story?  
(9:27pm) Missed message: You don't have to  
(9:31pm) Missed message: Do you remember when we went to that gala? The one where we ended up on the newspaper?  
(9:46pm) Missed message: Wish you were here  
(10:02pm) Missed message: I'm going to call you

A new notification popped up.

New picture message from Hank:

(10:07pm) Missed message: I think I might be in love with you.

 

Boris looked at his watch as he stepped onto the tarmac. It was just after one thirty in the morning. He could be back at Shadow Pond by half past two and cancel his morning meetings in Manhattan. Hank would be sober by then in all likelihood. At the very least he could call and see. Hank missed him. Hank wanted him. Hank might even love him. There was no business he wouldn't lose if it meant he got Hank in return.

$-$-$-$

Hank was jarred awake by his ringing phone. It took him a second to realize why he felt so nervous when he'd been a doctor for nearly ten years and dealt with tons of middle of the night calls.

Il Pleut, Il Pleut. It was Boris' ringtone. The clock on his nightstand said it was 2:20am. Was he sick? Was everything okay? Just as Hank answered the call everything he'd done the night before came rushing back. The texts. The picture. The phone message. Oh, God. He'd told everyone. He'd waxed poetic about his patient and landlord and best friend. Oh, God.

“Is your brother and Paige there?” Boris queried, not bothering with a greeting. Hank could hear footsteps crunching on gravel in the background.

“Yeah, they're staying over tonight. I think they're asleep. There was a lot of wine.” There was a brief moment of quiet. Should he say something?

“I see. Could you do me a favor?”

“Of course, anything.” Hank assured him.

“In ten minutes, go to the beach.” There was a beep as the line disconnected.

Hank found himself rolling his eyes a little at the mystery of it all. Leave it to Boris. He hadn't said anything about the messages. Maybe he had dreamed it? He checked his text messages. No, he'd really done it, and the little check marks suggested Boris had definitely read them. Maybe Boris was planning on ignoring them? But then why would he have Hank get out of the house at two thirty in the morning.

Hank groaned as he got out of bed and pulled on a shirt. What's done was done. Maybe Boris would let him down easy and it wouldn't change anything. He frowned. That should be the best case scenario, but it made him feel a little… sad. Disheartened.

He could hear Paige and Evan snoring softly in the guest room, so Hank didn't have to be particularly quiet as he grabbed his shoes and snuck out. The night air coming off the water was just cold enough to be sobering as Hank followed the shoreline. Beside him the ocean was an inky black behemoth that seemed to go on forever. He stopped to look out into the distance, to where the stars met the sea. Boris was over there somewhere. It was probably morning where he was, he'd probably been up for hours working.

Hank could imagine him in an office, bent intently over a stack of documents, reading glasses slipping down his nose. He'd brush back his silver hair in annoyance while making an almost inaudible 'tsk' sound as if he couldn’t believe the incompetence or gall of the document’s writer. Occasionally he’d sit back in his seat and cross his arms or roll his eyes if he found the offense particularly egregious. Secretly Hank loved when Boris would ‘tsk’ or roll his eyes. When he did it to someone else, he was dismissing them. When he did it around Hank, it meant that he was in a playful mood; and how amazing was it that out of everyone in the world, Boris was most comfortable with him?

Just ahead in the distance Hank could see a sliver of silver standing near the water's edge. He walked closer to it and realized it was a man, a tall one, wearing a grey suit. He had silver hair that glinted in the moonlight and-- Was that Boris observing the waves? He was sure he was imagining it but started to jog anyway. His footsteps were muffled by the sand, his breathing covered by the ocean's rumble. The closer he got the more sure he was-- That was Boris. His pace picked up until he was sprinting and maybe it was a bad idea but he just couldn’t stop. Then Boris turned, saw him, and smiled.

Hank launched himself at his friend without thinking, without restraint. “You're home!”

Boris savored the feeling of Hank in his arms, holding him closely as the man buried his face between Boris’ neck and shoulder. It was worth the wait. Hank tilted his head up to look at the man he was clinging to, wondering how Boris could feel so close but still somehow too far away. He moved his face closer. Their noses were nearly touching and yet the distance felt unbearable.

“I hate when you're away.” It was barely a murmur, nearly drowned out by the waves rolling onto the shore. He meant to apologize for the messages, but couldn't. He wasn't sorry, he wouldn't lie, and the way Boris was looking at him-- Maybe he didn't need to.

“So do I.” Boris agreed.

Hank wasn't sure if he moved first or if Boris had, but it didn't really matter. Their lips touched. It was barely a brush of skin on skin, but Hank just knew it was finally the kiss he'd been waiting his entire life for. It was tentative and soft and sweet; it was innocent and gentle and it made perfect sense. He finally found someone he had something bigger than sparks with; they had a connection and chemistry enough to last forever. This was only the first in a lifetime of kisses. There was no need to rush.

“I really missed you.” Hank finally repeated, not entirely sure what else to say.

Boris spent a long moment taking him in, looking at his eyes, his cheeks, his lips, almost as if the man were trying to memorize every tiny detail. Almost as if he were making sure that the moment was real, that it was actually happening.

“Come with me. Back to Norway. Just being near you--” Boris murmured hoarsely as he lightly traced his thumb over Hank's lower lip. “I've always been a wanderer, Hank. I've never been one to stay any place for long. I thought I was looking for something: answers, reasons, enlightenment? But now I suspect I've spent my life trying to find you. You are… home to me, Hank. Now that I know I'm not alone in my feelings, I don't want to waste more time being apart."

"You know, coming out here I really thought you letting me down easy was the best option." Hank smiled, the brilliant one that Boris loved. “I have never been so happy to be wrong. It's the off season, Evan can figure something out. Of course I'll go with you.”

How I wish, how I wish you were here  
We're just two lost souls  
Swimming in a fish bowl  
Year after year  
Running over the same old ground  
And how we found  
The same old fears  
Wish you were here  
-Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here

**Author's Note:**

> Hope everyone liked this, I've been working on it for about a year now XD I also have an exciting announcement! I just finished the first 1.5 chapters of an ~10 chapter long Horis fic featuring tons of fluff and plenty of steamy stuff. I'll start posting it in late August once I'm settled in my new house and done racing my Ironman!


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